


Salve Regina

by Kyele



Series: the greatest of these [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s01e09 Knight Takes Queen, Episode: s01e10 Musketeers Don't Die Easily, M/M, everything can be blamed on Milady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/pseuds/Kyele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Treville has not come to him since he had returned to Paris, triumphant, the Queen safe and sound. Richelieu is completely unsurprised. He has come here, now, to find out if that is ever going to change.</i>
</p>
<p>Codas for episodes 9 and 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to have turned into a total Richelieu apologist. I blame Peter Capaldi's amazing acting.
> 
> Chapter One takes place between Episodes 9 and 10.

Richelieu climbs the steps of Treville’s hotel with a sinking heart. He doesn’t shrink from many things, but he is very much afraid of what he will find in the chambers located at the top.

It’s been twenty-four hours since the Queen was returned safely to Paris, escorted by Treville and his four Musketeers. In that time he’s had one single glance from his Captain. It’s not the sort of glance that usually occurs between lovers. It had come while Treville joined in, stiffly, with the King’s applause for Richelieu’s arrest of Mellendorf. It had communicated the opposite of love.

The hotel’s court is usually full of noisy Musketeers, tramping in at all hours demanding Treville’s attention on some trivial matter or other. Richelieu has never understood why Treville doesn’t keep them out – the man has an office, after all, where he spends far too much of his time already – but Treville has always been inordinately fond of the bustle. As a result, Richelieu rarely comes to Treville’s hotel. It’s more a public salon than a private residence, and a Musketeer wandering in forgetting to knock at the wrong moment would be fatal to them both. The Palais-Cardinal, with its careful layout and well-trained staff, is far more suitable for carrying on their liaison.

But Treville has not come to him since he had returned to Paris, triumphant, the Queen safe and sound. Richelieu is completely unsurprised. He has come here, now, to find out if that is ever going to change.

The court is empty. For once, everyone has been sent away. The Cardinal’s footfalls echo through the open space.

He distracts himself, imagining Treville’s thought process upon hearing the noise. At first, he will probably assume that it’s his housekeeper. An earnest woman, and not overburdened with discretion, she could well be supposed to be going about her business without concern. The Queen was nearly assassinated. Treville’s housekeeper will be more concerned about the state of her laundry.

Ah, but after a moment, the Captain will realize the steps are too heavy to belong to a woman. The next obvious conclusion will be that it’s one of his Musketeers ascending the stairs. With the exception of the four troublemakers, none of them are aware of the rapidly shifting currents of the last few days. Some of them would be clever enough to see the empty court and withdraw, realizing something is wrong. Some of them, it must be said, would not.

But now the problem is that the footsteps are not heavy enough to be a Musketeer’s. Richelieu wears his robes, and, bereft of sword and musket, armor and belt, treads lightly.

The Captain had retreated to his lodgings in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier as soon as the King had dismissed him. Richelieu did not see this retreat himself, having been detained for further praise, the other hero of the hour, the unmasker of the assassin Mellendorf. But it’s only natural; the Captain is a seasoned campaigner, a career soldier, who automatically seeks the high ground when he feels threatened. After the events of today, Richelieu knows he will find Treville here.

Some men would have gone to the pub and sought drunkenness. Others would have gone to the practice yard in search of a fight. Still others might have tried the arms of their mistress. Treville will do none of those things. He’d been fond of the drink in his youth – too fond, as he will admit – and now he touches the stuff but rarely. A fight is out of the question with his arm still in its sling. And there is no solace to be found for him in the arms of a lover, since it is precisely his lover by whom he feels betrayed. No, Treville will have returned to his den, put his back against his wall, and begun to lick his wounds.

It is into this den Richelieu is following him. He passes through the empty antechamber, ignoring the desk piled high with paperwork, and pushes open the door to Treville’s private chambers.

“I don’t want to see you,” Treville says, not turning around.

“I know,” Richelieu says. “In your place, I wouldn’t want to see me either.”

Treville’s private chambers have another door opening onto a small balcony, which itself overlooks a small inner court. It’s no bigger than an antechamber itself, just enough room for a small fountain and two or three bits of greenery, but Treville is fond of it. He’s got the door open today, and the easy chair placed to command the view. Next to the easy chair is a small table. On that table is a glass, half-empty. Richelieu eyes it with carefully concealed dismay.

“Then go away,” Treville says.

“I cannot.” Richelieu tries to respect Treville’s boundaries, well aware that his own are pushed too far from the common denominator of human decency, but he cannot respect this one. If he leaves now, he will never regain the ground he had lost. And while he would not have chosen to make Treville’s affections his battleground, he also cannot choose, willingly, to quit that field.

Treville sighs. He raises the glass to his lips and drinks, deeply. It looks alarmingly like spirits.

“Very well. Say your piece,” Treville says wearily. “ _Then_ leave.”

“The events of today – ”

“No.” Treville tosses back the rest of the glass, then slams it to the table with surprising force. “Not that. I won’t hear anything about that.”

“You _must_ hear it,” Richelieu begs.

“No!” Treville starts to rise, then sinks back into his chair, pressing one hand to his forehead. “I don’t want your excuses. I don’t want – no, wait. Yes. Tell me. Tell me how you could have done this. Tell me how you could have raised your hand against your Queen!”

Richelieu takes the steps that separate him from Treville. Then, surprising himself nearly as much as Treville, he sinks to his knees before the Captain, a penitent before his confessor. “By the order of His Majesty, the King of France,” he says hoarsely, “whom I have sworn to serve in all things.”

Treville’s hand drops. His jaw, likewise. “The King?” he stutters. “The _King_ ordered you to have the Queen killed?”

Richelieu nods.

“But why?” Treville repeats, bewildered.

Richelieu swallows. “You heard him over luncheon,” he says. “How taken he was with Charlotte. Mellendorf saw the same thing. He pushed, hard. Spoke endlessly of the number of grandsons he had, and how large Charlotte’s dowry would be, and how ardently he desired a French son-in-law – but only one _good enough_ for his daughter.”

“I’ve heard all this already.” Treville makes an impatient gesture. “I don’t care what he said. I care about what the King said.”

“After the luncheon party rode back, Louis got progressively drunker. He bemoaned his lack of an heir, and the Queen’s preference for womanly pursuits. He said – ” the Cardinal lowers his voice. He had long ago taken precautions with Treville’s residence – for his own sake, as well as France’s – but there is such a thing as tempting fate. “The King said he wished the Queen were dead. That it would be better for France, and for him.”

“He was drunk,” Treville says sharply. “You can’t have taken him seriously!”

“No more I did!” Richelieu cries. “I told him it was the wine speaking, and put him to bed. And if I thought any more of it, it was only to wonder how to keep Louis from doing anything rash the next morning, when he remembered what he’d said.”

“Well then?”

Richelieu shakes his head. “When the King woke up – he hadn’t forgotten. He was sober as a judge, but he took me aside. He was rambling. Talking about the succession, and the need for an heir, and the advantages of marriage alliances. As if the Queen weren’t well connected – ”

“Armand,” Treville cuts in. “Now is not the time.”

“Yes. Of course.” Richelieu takes a deep breath, collecting himself. “I told him he was talking nonsense, but he persisted.” Richelieu drops his voice all the way to a whisper. “He said that, if anything were to happen to Anne, he would accept it as the will of God.”

“That’s hardly – ”

“Then he said: ‘You’ll arrange it for me, won’t you, Cardinal?’”

Treville blanches.

“He didn’t.”

“He did.” Richelieu sighs. “And then he walked away before I could get another word in. He got on his horse and rode out, and gave me a look as he did, to remind me that he’d given me an order.”

“Mon Dieu.” Treville reaches back for his glass and finds it empty. “But his behavior when he heard! The way he spoke today!”

“Does it really surprise you?” Richelieu sits back on his heels. “I knew he was never really serious in his heart. But I had to do something.”

“You could have done a lot less.”

“Such was my intention, I assure you! But there was a complication.”

“What kind of complication?”

“Milady.”

Treville hisses. “Milady.”

“She has lately become convinced that her position in my employment is not secure. I have restrained her a number of times lately – at your request, I might add – therefore she feared for her position. And her life. She overheard my speaking with another of my servants, and decided to take matters into her own hands, to demonstrate her loyalty and her capability.”

“She thought you really did want the Queen dead,” Treville says, in a tone of dawning horror.

“Yes. And she acted accordingly.”

Treville stares at Richelieu. Abruptly he pushes his chair back and stands, beginning to pace. Warily, Richelieu also rises to his feet.

Treville spins to face him. “Tell me you knew nothing of it.”

“Nothing. I swear it to you.” Richelieu holds out his hands. “The first word I had of Gallagher’s involvement was from you, when you stormed the Palais-Cardinal to tell me.”

Treville sighs. “You did seem really shocked.”

“I was.”

“You’re an excellent actor,” Treville points out. His frown deepens. “But I’ve been able to see through you before, and I didn’t pick up on anything.”

“I swear to you, I was shocked.”

“But you found out at some point. You planted that letter, didn’t you?”

Richelieu nods reluctantly. “When you had left the Palais-Cardinal, I turned around and Milady was there. I was furious with her – I very nearly – ” he presses his lips together and gestures, reluctant to pronounce the words. Treville nods slowly, the implication clearly understood.

“Why not order her to call Gallagher off?”

“You know better than that. Once hired, he would not accept a retraction.”

“So you started trying to cover your tracks,” Treville says in disgust.

“The _king’s_ tracks,” Richelieu argues.

“He would never come into it. If you were discovered, he would claim you’d done it on your own. You were saving your own hide.”

“Think,” Richelieu hisses. “Yes, he’d say that, and I’d be driven out of court. If not killed. Which would be a disaster on its own merits – ”

“Yes, show me that Christian humility,” Treville says scathingly.

“Assume for the sake of argument that France would stand without me,” Richelieu retorts. “The king may be a fool, but the queen is not. She knows her continued childlessness places her in a precarious position. She knows the king is growing dissatisfied. And she knows, which apparently you do _not_ , that I would never take such a drastic step without a direct order.”

Treville stares at Richelieu. The anger is beginning to drain from his face, to be replaced by dismay.

Richelieu controls his own expression ruthlessly, shoving away his own emotions – anger, fear, and the quiet, lurking hurt that Treville’s lack of faith inspires. He had known the Captain was furious with him. That he believed himself betrayed. And the Cardinal could not say, in good conscience, that Treville did not have reason to believe Richelieu capable of monstrosities. But there had been some small part of Richelieu that had hoped that Treville would have known, would have learned by now, that there are lines Richelieu does not cross. That Richelieu’s devotion to his ultimate cause is unshakeable, and that an attack against the queen goes against the very heart of him.

Evidently not. And the knowledge burns more than Richelieu cares to admit.

The Cardinal goes on, “The Queen would know that Louis had ordered the attempt. She would have turned against him. She is three times the politician he is or ever will be. I would be gone, or dead. Who would have kept the balance between them? You?” That’s harsh, but Richelieu almost doesn’t care. Treville flinches minutely.

“Politics are not my gift,” Treville says. The admission is quiet, but genuine, with a touch of irony. “I have always left that to you.”

Richelieu holds himself very still, refusing to give anything away.

“It would be civil war,” Treville says finally. “It would have destroyed France.”

“You see, then, why I could not let that happen.” Richelieu sighs. “Yes, I covered my tracks, and Milady’s. I also did everything in my power to recover the Queen alive.”

“What did you – ” Treville stops, then swears. “You sent the Musketeers on, when they arrived in Paris.”

“You had ridden out already, with every man you could trust,” Richelieu points out quietly. “When the regiment arrived in Paris, I could have told any lie I chose. I could have told them that the Queen was already dead. Or that I’d received a message from you, ordering them to take a different route, one that would have gotten them there too late. Or – ”

“I get the picture,” Treville says tightly.

“Instead I had fresh horses waiting, and supplies. They left Paris again within an hour of entering it.”

Treville blows out his breath. “Thank you.”

“In the event it didn’t prove relevant,” Richelieu admits. “You were able to rescue her. With four Musketeers, three supernumeraries and one arm in a sling – it was an astonishing feat.”

Treville blinks. Then, unbelievably, a corner of his mouth quirks up. “I thought you didn’t care about triumphs outside of the field of politics.”

“If I have ever given you that impression, I apologize,” Richelieu says sincerely. “I have always had the highest admiration for your skills.”

“You flatterer,” Treville says without rancor. He sighs. “Did you have to frame poor Mellendorf?”

“When regicide is attempted, someone must pay. Without a scapegoat, the investigation would have continued. There is no sweeping something like this under the rug.”

“But you can’t let him hang.” Treville takes a step forward. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Richelieu asks, hearing the bitterness creep into his own voice despite his effort to keep it out. He is renowned for his self-control, but this man somehow breaks through it, effortlessly, every time. “Because I’m not a monster? You have made it very clear that you disagree.”

“Armand.” Treville takes another step forward and reaches for Richelieu’s hands. “You came here tonight. Earlier, I thought I meant nothing to you. You must have known how I would react to your attempting to kill the Queen, but you did it anyway. I thought you did it for power. I thought you did _me_ for power.”

“No,” Richelieu protests.

“So you say. And your story is a good one. But it could still be just that – a story.”

“It is the truth.” Richelieu drops his hands and turns away. “I know what you think of me. It’s true. I’ve done many things in the name of God and France. But we will never know what greater horrors I’ve prevented. I worship three things, and everything I do, I do for them. If you believe nothing else about me, believe that.”

“God, the King, and France?”

“I consider the King and France to be one. And before you ask, the Queen, as well.”

Treville frowns. “Then what is the third?”

Richelieu looks at him. Was it possible, he wonders. Did he truly not know? Treville’s brow is furrowed, and he watches Richelieu with eyes that disbelieve.

“You are,” Richelieu says, plainly.

Silence meets this declaration. Treville blinks, and shakes his head, as if he doubts his hearing. When Richelieu says nothing further, he begins to grow pale. His eyes widen.

“You mean that,” he whispers.

“I do.”

Silence. Richelieu waits. It is clear to him now that, despite their history, Treville has never really believed in Richelieu’s endearments or promises. He had thought himself a diversion at best; a political tool at worst. One the Cardinal had apparently discarded as soon as a larger political opportunity – the queen’s assassination – had appeared.

Let him learn now, then. Let it be made perfectly clear. Let Treville learn how Richelieu has disposed of his heart.

Five years Richelieu has loved him. And yet, somehow, he has managed it as badly as this.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” Treville says at last.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Treville bites his lip. “I don’t know what to _do_ with that.”

“You needn’t do anything.”

Treville is silent.

Richelieu goes on, “I don’t say it to be praised, or to confer any kind of… of obligation. You seemed to be unaware of my priorities. You believed me capable of regicide – you believed I dallied with you for power.” The Cardinal shakes his head, astonished. “This is the truth. To you, to the King, and to God, I have never lied. I have made no promises I have not kept.”

“But when the king ordered you to kill the queen – ”

“Louis didn’t mean it! And I had long ago promised him to do what was best for him, and for his kingdom. Killing the Queen would accomplish neither.”

Treville paces a few steps away, leaning against the back of his easy chair and staring blankly over the courtyard. “You said, before, that you had planned something smaller, until Milady got hold of it. What was it?”

“A scare. Some near accident. A large rock falling near the Queen, or a skittish horse. Something to frighten the king and make him imagine what the world would be like without Anne. Awaken the protective instincts and fond emotions that were on display today. That way I’d have kept my promise to him, and remained his servant. Everything else was Milady’s doing. I did everything in my power to prevent it as soon as I learned of it.”

Treville turns about and searches his face. Richelieu submits to this examination, making a conscious effort to lower his guard, to show his emotions.

“Prove it to me,” Treville says at last.

“How?”

“Free Mellendorf.”

Richelieu shakes his head. “Without his confession, Charlotte is implicated – ruined. He won’t do it. He loves his daughter too much.”

Treville sighs. “Yes, I can see that. All right. But you can’t let him hang.”

“I can stall the king for a while,” Richelieu says, thinking furiously. “Charlotte will push for her father’s release… and the Queen will add her support, I think.”

“Because she suspects Mellendorf is innocent.” Treville’s gaze is a thousand miles away again. “But what good does a delay do?”

“It buys time for something else to change.”

“What?”

“Milady.”

“The true villainess revealed?” Something predatory gleams at the corner of Treville’s eye. “After all, it would only be justice.”

“I can – ”

“No.” Treville’s hand creeps towards his waist, where his sword usually hangs. “The Musketeers have first claim upon her. We will bring her to justice.”

Richelieu inclines his head. “I honor that. But you will need me first to withdraw my protection.”

“No,” Treville repeats. “Now _you_ must think. Milady already fears you’ll betray her. She will be watching for it. You must do nothing. Let her continue to think you are on her side. Aid her, collaborate with her, exactly as you would otherwise. Encourage her, even. Do otherwise and she will try to kill you before you can kill her.”

“As you say,” Richelieu says, unable to entirely hold back the smile of pride.

Treville blinks. “You knew that already,” he accuses.

Richelieu lets the smile widen. “Of course.”

“But you’d have done it anyway? She’s your best agent; I think she really could threaten you.”

“She has gone too far,” Richelieu says coldly. “I will do my best to leave her for you. But, in truth, the urge to commit murder in her presence is growing harder to restrain.”

“Then turn it in the other direction,” Treville suggests. “Unleash your rage. Let her feel the branch creak. Then point her at us. Her fear will make her careless, and we’ll do the rest.”

The Cardinal takes a deep breath. “Yes, that will do,” he says. “You must let me know the part I am to play.”

“I’ll get you word.”

“Carefully. Your Musketeers will be watching.”

“Milady has been your creature for a long time,” Treville says, watching him intently. “She’s loyal to you.”

“She is a danger to France,” Richelieu says simply.

“Five years ago, you disagreed.”

“Five years ago, I did not yet know what France had to lose.”

The corner of Treville’s mouth twitches up again. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying you love me.”

Richelieu puts on a blank face, covering dawning hope. “My dear Treville,” he says haughtily. “What on earth could you be implying? Are you suggesting that you have been some kind of civilizing influence on me? I am most offended at the thought.”

“Are you now,” Treville laughs. Imperceptibly, Richelieu relaxes. There’s warmth in Treville’s voice again. His gaze has softened. Treville adds, “Then I suppose I shouldn’t suggest anything else that might offend your sensibilities.”

“Certainly not,” Richelieu says, his haughtiest tones concealing the very depth of his relief. He’s been so afraid, ever since this disaster first broke on him, that Treville will desert him for his perceived betrayal. That he’ll never look at Richelieu again the way Richelieu so ardently desires. To have it offered to him now so easily is dizzying. He’s reminded again how temperamental his Gascon can be. Quick to anger, but quick to forgive, too, when the truth is pointed out.

“You are truly a good man,” Richelieu says aloud, forgetting for a moment to play out the game.

“Come now,” Treville says, turning to study the fireplace with great interest. “My blushes.”

“Yes.” Richelieu controls himself. “Yes, of course.” He coughs, then advances towards the Captain. “Well. I suppose, if you’re not adverse to being taken offense of…”

“Now that,” Treville smiles, “sounds like a scheme worthy of your intellect.”

* * *

“My Musketeers,” Treville says later, after they have passed several pleasant hours together. “How can I tell them? They believe you’re their enemy.”

“Perhaps I am,” Richelieu says, still stroking his fingers through Treville’s hair.

“Armand,” Treville sighs. “Why do you persist in this rivalry? This antagonism? You needn’t be a bogeyman to be effective.”

“France needs strength,” Richelieu disagrees. “The King won’t provide it. I must – and, as I do not wear the crown, I must be twice as strict, twice as frightening, and twice as omnipotent. Leave it be, Treville. They are right to fear me.”

Almost too quietly to hear, Treville murmurs, “I wish they could see the side of you I do.”

“I am sorry, my dear,” Richelieu says in the same tone. “I know it places you in a difficult position.”

“Not half so difficult as yours,” Treville says roughly. He clears his throat. “I’ll have to lead them against you. If I try to hold them back – ”

“I know.”

“When Milady is dealt with…”

“Perhaps you will discover evidence, among her effects, of her having acted alone with regard to the Queen’s attempted assassination.”

“Will you have to plant it?”

“Likely. She is too clever to have kept it herself.”

“Hopefully my Musketeers won’t realize that,” Treville observes.

“Nevertheless it will be the truth. And the truth has a way of corroborating itself.”

“You’re an odd one to be lecturing about truth,” Treville says, amused.

“I am a great believer in it,” Richelieu says sincerely. “The Bible says it will set you free.”

“You don’t seem to live by that advice.”

“I lived by it last night,” Richelieu points out.

Treville looks over and smiled. “True.” 

* * *

Richelieu had been a soldier in his youth, and he remembers it fairly well. In his recollection, soldiers’ boots were not notably distinct from other kinds of boots, nor were they particularly difficult to put on.

“Morts touts les diable!” Treville swears, stomping his feet.

As always, his Gascon is the exception to every rule.

“Sang Dieu!”

“My dear,” Richelieu suggests diffidently, “perhaps it is time for a new pair of boots?”

“What?” Treville demands, offended. “I’ll have you know, Monsieur le Cardinal, that these boots have been with me since I was a cadet with four crowns in my purse and far too much pride. They have taken me to Florence and back in the King’s service, and I’ll be damned if I’m not buried in them!”

“Of course,” the Cardinal agrees meekly, as if he’d never suggested anything else.

With one final stomp, the boots are on. Treville stands by the bed fully dressed, and sighs, the levity of a moment ago completely gone.

“I don’t know when I’ll next be free,” he says regretfully. “When I walk out that door, I go back to being your sworn enemy.”

“Aren’t you always?” Richelieu says with forced lightness. He draws near and steals a kiss. “As long as I know your heart does not believe your lips, I am content.”

“That’s well enough, but if you’re just content, you’ll end up dead. You will have to move against me.”

“I know.” Richelieu summons up a smile. “I have been doing this a long time, my dear. Be reassured – it will all be well in the end.”

“Take care of yourself,” Treville commands. He steals a kiss of his own. Then he straightens, flipping his cloak automatically clear of his sword-hilt, and turns towards the door. “And be careful with your plotting,” he adds, pausing in the doorway. “You say the Queen suspects… we must keep this between yourself and my Musketeers. Above all else, the Queen must never discover what her husband nearly did.”

Richelieu focuses on keeping his reassuring smile on his face until the door closes behind Treville.

Then he lets it drop. Turning away from the sight of the disarranged bed, he settles himself in Treville’s easy chair. He will wait fifteen or twenty minutes, then make his way back to the Palais-Cardinal.

Last night, before allowing passion to overtake them, Treville had closed the balcony doors. Richelieu doesn’t reopen them. The view may be boring, but circumspection demands that he not be easily observed alone in Treville’s quarters. Of course, Musketeers and all manner of staff can and do parade through them at all hours of the day. Still, Richelieu’s presence alone, without Treville, might raise some small comment.

Though most witnesses would assume Richelieu was snooping. Whatever Treville says, being a bogeyman is not without its uses.

It doesn’t matter that Richelieu can’t see the city. He can picture it perfectly well in his mind. First he traces the path he will take back to the Palais-Cardinal. And then, past it, he sees the steps that would lead him to the Louvre.

_The Queen must never discover what her husband nearly did_ _,_ Treville had said.

The Cardinal is blessed with an excellent memory. It has been an invaluable aid to him in his profession. He uses it now to recall the moment when Anne had appeared at the palace, escorted by her guard of Musketeers, safe and whole.

The look on her face.

She had not been relieved to be home. She had not felt safe. Her gaze had been closed. Not full of suspicion, no – the Queen is too expert a politician for that. She had merely been aloof and withdrawn.

A brief flash of emotion had been visible when Louis had fallen on her with relief. Surprise. Shock, even. And then again, when Richelieu had declared Mellendorf the victim. And still again, when Louis had led the applause.

Treville, wrapped up in his own anger, had missed all three flashes. So had the king. But not the Cardinal.

The Queen had known. Not suspected; _known._

Richelieu’s intervention has staved off imminent, open civil war. With a scapegoat available, one from outside France, the situation is temporarily defused. The Queen has no ready well of inward-focused anger to tap among the court. And, too, Louis’ reaction had taken her aback. She had misread the king, it seemed. She had thought Louis was in earnest. The discovery that he was not had caught her by surprise.

But she knows.

Oh, yes, she knows.

The question now, Richelieu thinks, leaning back in Treville’s chair and steepling his fingers, is – what are they going to do about it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after Episode 10.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Treville seethes.

He’s barely waited until the door to Richelieu’s office in the Palais-Cardinal closes. Richelieu winces, hoping the servant has had time to get clear.

“My dear – ”

“When the Queen came to me I nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Saying she knew I was up to something! Saying she wanted in on the plot!”

“Treville, please – ”

“What part of _‘the queen must never know’_ did you not understand?” he cries. “I thought the goal was to avoid civil war!”

“Treville, the queen knew already.”

“What?” Treville paces a furious circle. “What are you saying? You said she _suspected._ It could still have been kept quiet.”

“She knew the instant a musket was fired at her that the king had ordered her death,” Richelieu says flatly. “She had to be brought in to your plot, Treville. Otherwise she would only have pursued the matter on her own. And that _would_ have been a disaster.”

“She _knew_.” Treville still seems to be stuck on this concept.

Richelieu sighs. “The queen is not an idiot. She has long known her position was precarious. You weren’t watching her face when she arrived at the Louvre – I was. She was surprised that the king was glad to see her. She was surprised that I had a scapegoat ready-made. She was surprised that the king applauded me for it. What explanation can account for all of these things? Only one. She knew all.”

“So you sent her to me.”

“In the matter of conspiracies, the fewer the better,” Richelieu says. “The Queen has an admirable grasp of reality. You heard what she said. A rift between the king and I would cause civil war. That is in no one’s interests. But neither could the queen allow a threat to her life to continue. This way she is secure. She knows the truth, and she has a hold on me.”

“I’m surprised you allowed her that,” Treville admits.

“There is nothing to allow,” Richelieu says. “She already had every hold on me, by virtue of her position. The only alteration is, that now she believes it.”

Treville laughs. “And the Queen is pregnant, and Mellendorf is pardoned. It could hardly have turned out better.”

“The pardon was all her Majesty’s idea,” Richelieu says modestly. “And the pregnancy is thanks to the greatness of God. Of course, it also cements the Queen’s position. Another victory for her.”

“You’ve got it all figured out,” Treville says. “Except for the part where the Musketeers still believe you intended regicide. What happened to the evidence you were to plant on Milady?”

“Unfortunately that part of the plan had to be altered. Milady was too free with her use of my name. Too many people believed I had authorized her to hire Gallagher. Your Musketeers among them. Shaking that belief would have required a long game – France only had time for a short one. Their belief in my perfidy must endure.”

“But the Queen knows better.”

“She always did,” the Cardinal repeats. “But now I think she believes it, in addition to merely knowing it.”

“You’re taking a lot on yourself,” Treville mutters. “Your name’s being blackened.”

“I’m not doing this for power or glory,” Richelieu reminds him. “I’m doing this for France.”

“And the Queen knows it.” Treville blows out a sigh and shakes his head. “I am not cut out for politics.”

“Fortunately,” Richelieu ventures, “you have me to handle them.”

“Why, so I do.” Treville’s smile makes another appearance, tinged with affection. “But perhaps you could try to mind my blood pressure, in the future?”

“I shall do my best,” Richelieu promises.

“No more surprise Queens.”

“Not unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“She may know the truth in private,” Treville points out, “but she’ll still have to treat you as her vilest enemy.”

“So nothing will have changed,” he shrugs.

“Be careful, Armand. You can only do so much.”

“God knows better than I what I can handle.”

“Stubborn ox,” Treville mutters.

Richelieu has to smile. “Perhaps God gave you to me to keep me from taking on too much.”

“Wait a moment,” Treville says. “Wait.” He frowns. For a moment, he paces about the room. Then he spins on Richelieu. “Nothing changed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing changed. Nothing. There is no more evidence against you now than there was before. No more of a case. You didn’t give anything up. Nothing changed.”

“That’s not how the Queen sees it,” Richelieu observes. “Nor your Musketeers.”

“But it’s an illusion,” Treville says intently. “What do they have against you? Their word. The Queen’s word and the word of four Musketeers – for of course your Guard will have been conveniently struck deaf.”

“And yourself as well,” Richelieu murmurs, “since you only mentioned _four_ Musketeers.”

Treville stops pacing. “I was forgetting young D’Artagnan,” he says unconvincingly. “I meant _five_ Musketeers, of course.”

“Of course,” Richelieu agrees fondly.

“But the point _is_ ,” Treville says. “There’s not a single extra shred of evidence. No proof. You didn’t sign anything, there are no new witnesses. Sure, the Queen could go to the king and say, ‘The Cardinal plotted to kill me’. She can produce Musketeers to back her up. But she could have done all of that before!”

“Now she can claim she heard me confess,” Richelieu points out.

“But she can’t prove it. And if she’s lying about the assassination, she could lie about hearing a confession just as easily.” Treville shook his head incredulously. “My God. You gave up nothing. But the Queen and the Musketeers all think they’ve got you beat.”

Richelieu smiles. “Beautiful, is it not?”

“And Milady – ” Treville sounds breathless. “You let Athos go after her. So it’ll look like it’s just her past coming back to bite her. Your other agents won’t think you gave her up.”

“A not inconsiderable point,” Richelieu agrees.

“All part of the illusion,” Treville finishes. “Milady dead. Damaging information in the possession of your enemies. A clear victory for your opponents. And none of it real. They have nothing more on you than they did a day ago – and Milady wasn’t going to be useful anymore.”

Richelieu watches Treville carefully. A note has appeared in the Captain’s voice that the Cardinal doesn’t quite know what to make of. It _has_ all come out rather well, for something that had started with the king’s wine-sodden, utterly boneheaded order to have his wife killed. From the position Richelieu had found himself in shortly thereafter, simply holding steady and not losing any ground is a victory. But the accomplishment of that goal has required every bit of cunning and ruthlessness he possesses. Characteristics that Treville has, in the past, looked less than favorably upon.

“It was an extreme situation,” Richelieu says cautiously. “I sincerely hope nothing like this has to happen again.”

“You’re damn right,” Treville says, heartfelt. “But I have to say…” taking a step closer to Richelieu. “It was bloody brilliant.”

Richelieu’s eyes widen.

Treville laughs. “What was it you said to me? ‘I have always had the highest admiration for your skills.’”

“I am flattered,” Richelieu manages.

“Not yet you’re not,” Treville returns, closing in. “But I think I can fix that.”

“Your Musketeers?” Richelieu asks, backing away, imagining them bursting in at any moment in search of their Captain.

“Three weeks’ leave, in praise for a job well done,” Treville assures him. “And strict orders to stay out of Paris for the length of it. They fully understand the need to maintain a low profile, at least for a little while.”

“Dear me,” Richelieu murmurs, beginning to smile. “What will you do without their constant antics? I’m sure you’ll be terribly bored.”

“That’s all right,” Treville says, reaching for Richelieu. “I’ve plenty to occupy me here.”

Richelieu spares a glance over Treville’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Treville says. “I still have the key you gave me, and I’ve already locked the door.”

* * *

“I admit, I’m still worried about my Musketeers,” Treville says later, reclining lazily on Richelieu's bed. “They’re not all as pragmatic as the Queen. D’Artagnan is young enough to be pacified, and Milady will satisfy Athos. But Porthos and Aramis may want to keep going at you.”

“I am not concerned,” Richelieu says.

“But surely – wait.” Treville rolls onto his side. “Wait a moment. You’re not concerned? _You. You_ are not concerned.”

Richelieu contrives to look innocent.

“Mon Dieu. _What do you know?_ ”

“I? Nothing.”

Treville shakes his head. “And here you swore, only a few weeks ago, that you had never – _would_ never lie to me.”

“I am not lying,” Richelieu protests. “I _know_ nothing. At least, nothing of any significance. You have simply not asked the right question.”

“All right,” Treville says grudgingly. “You don’t know anything. What do you suspect?”

“Suspicions are dangerous,” Richelieu says. “Let us return, therefore, to the realm of knowledge.”

Treville mutters something under his breath. “And what do you know that is of no significance whatsoever?”

“Good,” Richelieu says with a smile. “I’ll make a spy of you yet.” His smile fades under Treville’s gaze. “An attempt was made on the Queen’s life.”

“I recall,” Treville says tightly.

“It was made three weeks ago. While the Queen was taking the waters, to improve her fertility.”

“Obviously it worked.”

“But the Queen was unable to return to the palace immediately after taking the waters. She was forced to seek refuge at a convent, due to the aforementioned assassination attempt.”

“And?”

“And she was there, for three days, with two of your Musketeers.”

“You are not suggesting – ”

“I suggest nothing.”

Treville searches his face. “That's convenient,” he says after a moment, “but hardly significant.”

“Precisely,” Richelieu agrees. “It's of no significance whatsoever. Nor, taken by itself, is one additional fact with which I have not yet made you acquainted.”

“What is it?”

“That, two days ago, during a private audience, Aramis pledged to the Queen to protect her child with his life. And, immediately afterwards, the Queen gave Aramis her hand to kiss.”

Treville stares at him for a second. Then he swears, fervent and long.

“Armand,” he says when he’s done, “please tell me you’re lying. I’ll forgive you, I promise. Just this one time. Be lying to me.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. It’s the truth.”

“And Aramis knows you saw him kissing the Queen’s hand?”

“As it happens, I was so overcome by my gratitude for France’s future heir that I approached them both to express it,” Richelieu admits without a trace of shame.

“Of course you did,” Treville moans, covering his face with his hand.

“My dear, don’t you see it’s the best way? A secret for a secret, and we are all again in balance.”

Treville smiles. “I know how you like to keep secrets in balance,” he teases fondly. “Except… the Queen was also there. I thought you wanted her to be one up on you?”

“But she is. She has the assassination attempt and the heir to the throne. I have the identity of the child’s father. She remains precisely one up on me.”

“Balance.” Treville lets his hand drop. “I will never be a politician.”

“One of us is enough,” Richelieu says honestly. “It’s a nest of vipers. I don’t want you in it.”

“If the child is truly not the King’s…”

Richelieu nods. “It’s a delicate puzzle. Much depends on the child’s sex. If they are female, I don’t know that it does France, or the King, any harm.”

“But part of the value of the child is that it proves the possibility of an heir,” Treville argues. “It proves that the Queen is not barren. If she got the child from Aramis, she’s no more likely to produce an heir now than she ever was.”

“That depends,” Richelieu says, “on how you define ‘heir’.”

Treville blanches. “You’re not really thinking…”

“I must consider all possibilities. The Queen has been childless for so many years. We all assumed it was her fault – that the potential barrenness lay with her. But now she is pregnant. So we know that is not the case.”

“Oh, no,” Treville says softly. “If the Queen can conceive, then the problem is not hers after all.”

“Precisely.” Richelieu sighs. “If it turns out the King is infertile, our options become very limited.”

“There's Monsieur,” Treville says doubtfully.

“I don’t need to tell you how problematic that would be for France.”

“No. But the alternative…”

“It requires thought,” Richelieu says. “It requires much thought.”

Treville rolls backwards with a groan.

“There will be a breathing space,” Richelieu offers. “Milady is gone. The web is once again in balance. Nothing more will go forward until the sex of the Queen’s child is known. If it is male, everything will change. Who knows how the sides will shift? But until then there will be peace.”

“More like the calm before the storm.”

“There will always be another storm. That’s human nature, I think. The calm is the rare part. For my part, I am inclined to treasure it.”

“Practical as always,” Treville says.

“I would have described you as being the practical one.”

“Peace,” Treville muses, lapsing into silence. He studies the ceiling. Occasionally his lips move, a habit of thought Richelieu has always found oddly endearing.

The Cardinal waits.

“Then let’s take advantage of it,” Treville says at last.

Richelieu smiles. Together they turn their attention back to the present, and leave the future to attend to itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Treville refers to [Monsieur](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monsieur), he means Louis XIII's younger brother, the [Duc d'Orleans](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philippe_I,_Duke_of_Orl%C3%A9ans), who was his heir until Louis XIV was born, and who had a bad habit of conspiring to borrow his brother's throne and not give it back. (Talk about sibling rivalry.)


End file.
